


When It's Over

by i_apologize_in_advance



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Breakups, F/M, Gen, selfharm, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:00:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28335024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_apologize_in_advance/pseuds/i_apologize_in_advance
Summary: Your relationship with popular YouTuber Jschlatt has been going downhill, and the inevitable end sends you spiraling.A/N: If somehow Jschlatt himself is reading this and it makes you uncomfortable, lmk and I'll delete it right away
Relationships: Jschlatt (Video Blogging RPF)/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 69





	When It's Over

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Themes of self-harm. Do not read if you're sensitive to that. 
> 
> This is not a reflection of the actual personality of Jschlatt. It's simply my creative interpretation of how his YouTube persona might act in the given situation.

_Schlatt <3 _  
**Hey, can you meet me at the park tomorrow, that spot with the benches and the oak tree? Around 11 AM?**

_You_  
**Sure, is there something wrong?**

_Schlatt <3 _  
**No, just wanted to talk to you. See you tomorrow**

You frown at this prompt conversion closer. He “just wanted to talk”? A sick feeling curdles in your stomach, but you click off your phone and slide it onto your bedside table. 

Schlatt and you have been dating for nearly two years. Most of it has been great. You share a similar sense of humor, bond over common hobbies, and you are both always up for an adventure. However, in the past couple of months, you’ve felt him… draw away. His career with YouTube keeps him busy, and while you admire his hard work and dedication, you miss him. Your late nights on FaceTime have been replaced by his late nights editing videos and your late nights studying. 

Rolling over in bed, a surge of hope sparks in your chest. Maybe he’s recognized the problem too, and you two can talk about how you can improve your relationship. He’s far more emotionally mature than what first impressions reveal, and you know that he’s the kind of guy to approach conflict head on. 

With these thoughts at the vestiges of your mind, you fall asleep, arm curled around a pillow that you wish could be Schlatt. 

The next morning, you walk to the park near your appointment, arriving ten minutes early and sitting down at a bench. The sun beams overhead, and though nervous energy makes you twist your hands, you tell yourself that it’s going to be a good day. You fire off a quick text to Schlatt, letting him know you’re there. 

He arrives right on time, and you smile at him. He just always looks so Schlatt. He’s wearing a grey crewneck sweatshirt and dark jeans, but, surprisingly enough, the sideburns you relentlessly tease him about are shaved. You’re not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. 

Even though you’re sitting on the bench, he stops walking a few feet away, standing with his hands in his pockets. You bite your lip, and a knot twists your stomach. Rising to stand too, you cross your arms nervously.

“Hey Schlatt.” You swallow awkwardly, already clamming up even though this is your boyfriend for christ’s sake, and you’re more than comfortable around him. But, you often match his relaxed energy, and he doesn’t seem relaxed now. “What’d you want to talk to me about?”

“Y/n, I’m sorry about the timing, I know it’s awkward with your schedule.” His hands sink deeper into his pockets. He looks nervous. Schlatt’s never nervous. 

Your shrug, trying to see nonchalant even though your internal alarms are ringing. “No big deal.”

You both stand there silently for a moment. You wait, brows furrowing as you expect him to speak. 

He finally does. “This… is hard to talk about, but we’ve always been honest with each other, so I don’t want this to be any different. Things have felt off between us recently, and I’m guessing you’ve probably noticed it too.”

You nod. Your hands are sweating. 

He continues. “With you and your degree and me and my career, we’re both just so busy, and we haven’t really been focusing on each other. And besides that, I think we’re both just… different than when we met. We’re not those lighthearted kids anymore.”

Your stomach is dropping, the exact feeling you get at the top of the rollercoaster right when it goes over. You know what’s coming, and you hate it.

Shifting his stance, he says, “You know that I’ve had some of the best moments of my life with you, and I want to preserve that. The best of us. I think we should end this now before we get bad. I never want you to look at our memories and feel anything but happy that it happened.” 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you surprise yourself with how steady your voice is even though it feels as if you’ve been socked in the gut. “You don’t think we’re worth trying to save?”

He opens his mouth to respond, closes it again, opens it. You note the sorrow in his eyes, and some small part of your mind appreciates that he’s at least emotional about this too. “Y/n, I’m sorry, but my heart’s not in it, and I won’t give you a false promise of trying when it’s unlikely anything will actually change.” 

Your name on his lips is too much. It’s all too much for you. The world is pressing in around you, your heart is squeezing, your lungs are deflating. You need to get out of here before you break. “I u-understand.” Your voice catches as you turn away, but his hand around your upper arm stops you.

You’re terrified that this is the last time he’ll ever touch you, and he releases all too quickly. When you glance back at him, his expression is sheepish, as if he regrets doing that. 

“Wait, y/n.” _Why does the fucker keep saying my name?_ “I never meant to hurt you, and I need to know you’re going to be okay before you go.” 

You don’t meet his insistent gaze. “I’m fine.”

“We don’t lie to each other, remember?”

Tears burning your eyes, you whip around to face him, you almost shout, “What exactly do you want me to say? That it doesn’t feel like the world’s spinning?” You take a breath and lower your voice, and he doesn’t interrupt you. “I made that promise to a different you, from a different me. Forget it. It doesn’t matter.” 

This time when you walk away from his with quick strides, he doesn’t stop you. As soon as you aren’t looking at him, something breaks in you, and the tears gush freely. You can hardly breathe, hardly think, but somehow you make it back to your apartment. 

After unlocking the door, you rush into the bathroom and sink to the floor, head tipped against the wall. Heavy sobs rack your body, petering out into gasping breaths. You wrap your arms around yourself as frenzied thoughts rush through your mind. 

How could he end us just like that? Why am I not worth fighting for? Could I have stopped this? How long has he been thinking about doing this? When we were eating Chinese take-out and he was laughing at the TV last week, was he thinking about how that would be his last time in my apartment? 

But most of all, one thought crashes over and over again.  
_I loved him, I loved him, I loved him I loved him I loved him I loved him IlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhimIlovedhim_

_I love him._

**[[Author’s Note: Trigger warning. The text implies incoming self harm and there is stated self harm motivated thoughts]]**

The worst of your crying subsides, but you can’t stop the tears, and you hate how pitiful you must look, hair stuck to your damp face and snot bubbling in your nose. You need to calm down. You need to get a grip on yourself. 

Stumbling to your feet, you pull back a drawer under the sink, eyes landing on a familiar razor blade. You haven’t used it in months, but it’s always there. Waiting. 

You know that the cut of the blade will clear your mind and calm your breathing. Each red line will be a little bit more control coming back to you. And afterwards, tomorrow, the sting will remind you of the mistake you’ve made, will punish you for not seeing this coming and guarding your heart. 

The blade’s pinched between your fingers and you’re lifting your skirt away from your thigh when your phone buzzes. You pause, blurry eyes flicking to the screen.

_Schlatt <3_  
**Hey, I just wanted to give you a heads up that I called Jen and told her about the breakup and that she should go to your place. It’s better if someone is with you.**

At the sight of the small heart next to his contact name, rage pulses through you. Damn him! Damn him for making you fall in love with him, damn him for making you happy, damn him for existing in your life at all. 

Still, you set down the blade and furiously type a message back to him.

_You_  
**While I appreciate the sentiment, I don’t need you to contact my friends for me. I can take care of myself.**

Three dots appear almost immediately. 

_Schlatt <3 _  
**Y/n, we’ve talked about your history with self harm, how you do it after things go wrong in your life. I’m worried about you.**

_You_  
**You don’t get to worry about me. Not anymore. My feelings aren’t your problem.**

_Schlatt <3 _  
**Jesus y/n, do you think I just flipped a switch and now it’s like we never happened? I care about you. I’ll always care about you.**

You fire off a text to Jen, telling her you want some time alone to listen to sad music, and she can come over later. In that lapsed time, Schlatt calls you, which you ignore. You hate yourself for liking that he’s even trying to contact you. That he still cares. 

_You_  
**Calm down, Schlatt. I won’t do anything stupid, I promise.**

You charge out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, yank open the freezer, and snap a picture of a tub of ice cream. You send it to Schlatt. 

_You_  
**See? I’m busy with Ben & Jerry’s. I’ll gather up any of your stuff that’s here and drop it off at your place tomorrow. **

The three dots appear. Disappear. Appear again.

_Schlatt <3 _  
**Ok, be safe.**

You throw your phone across the room where it hits the couch and march back to the bathroom. Swiping the razor of the counter, you stare at it. A strangled groan builds in the back of your throat and you open the drawer, toss the razor in, and slam it shut. 

You can’t do it. You can’t break a promise to Schlatt just like you can’t stop loving him.

You slide back to the ground as the sobs overtake you once again.


End file.
